


press

by spacebubble



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Angst, Aural Kink, Episode: s03e25 Facets, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Sensuality, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: Curzon takes a moment to apologize for earlier.





	press

Quark doesn't like this one bit.

It's been over an hour since the bar officially closed, but Curzon insisted on remaining to finish his tongo game. And even though the game is finally over, Curzon's _still_ here, taking his sweet time, chatting away with Jadzia like they had all night to talk, like Quark's not waiting impatiently for them to leave, growing tenser by the minute.

("Surely you can make an exception, Quark? It's a special occasion, after all."

And Curzon had leaned in close, almost close enough to kiss him again, eyes lowered to gaze down at him, hands moving upwards, as if to reach -

Quark ducked away hastily, almost stumbling backwards into a hapless waiter.)

Jadzia keeps looking over with an apologetic expression as Curzon leisurely gathers his tongo winnings, scooping up the pieces of gold-pressed latinum with a smug self-satisfaction. 

Seeing Curzon smile with Odo's face makes Quark deeply uncomfortable. The entire situation discomforts him. There's something... _wrong_ about the way Curzon's taken over Odo's body, rewriting Odo's features and overlaying them with his own. The lines of Trill spots cascading down Odo's face and neck, the unruly hair no longer slicked back with an orderly smoothness. It all feels wrong.

"Quark?"

His eyes widen as Curzon walks up to him, hands full of latinum.

"What?" Quark asks bluntly, pulse racing as he looks up at the freakish figure peering down at him with Odo's altered face. 

Behind Curzon, Jadzia sighs. "Curzon, we still need to talk."

"And we will," Curzon says lightly, turning to her with a placating smile. "Meet me in the security office. I'll be there in a moment."

Eyebrows knitting, Jadzia glances between him and Quark, then at the latinum in his hands. "Okay, but don't gloat _too_ much, Curzon."

Curzon laughs, and it sounds just like Odo. "I don't intend to. Don't worry, I won't take long."

Shaking her head, Jadzia leaves.

As the sound of her footsteps grows fainter and fainter, it occurs to Quark that he can't hear Rom and Nog anymore. Or anyone else, really.

It's just him and Curzon. 

"So what do you want?" Quark asks curtly, stepping back a little to give himself more space.

Curzon steps forward, and Quark steps backwards yet again. 

"Quark, I'm trying to be nice."

"You weren't so nice when you grabbed my ears earlier."

Chuckling without any hint of remorse whatsoever, Curzon steps forward again, backing Quark into one of the bar's pylons. Quark suppresses a yelp.

"So let me make up for it," Curzon murmurs, hands still full of latinum. Quark can hear the faint sounds of the gold-pressed pieces clinking against each other. "Here."

And he holds out the latinum, fingers just shy of brushing against Quark's chest.

"I... what?" Quark blinks rapidly, not sure if he's heard correctly. 

"Take it," Curzon urges with a grin. He lightly jostles the pile of pieces in his hands, and the sweet clink of metal against metal makes Quark's pulse race. "Go ahead."

Quark looks at the latinum, then back up into Curzon's eyes. The curve of the pylon digs into his spine. "Are you sure?"

Curzon tilts his head to scrutinize him, and for a moment, all Quark can see is Odo. "I've never known you to question anything given to you, Quark. Would you prefer to have cheated it from me instead?"

The suspicious tone is so soothingly familiar that Quark relaxes immediately, shoulders sagging against the pylon in relief. 

He laughs.

"Fine, whatever." Quark cups his hands together, palms up, ready to receive.

It doesn't seem possible for Curzon to lean even closer, but he does, nose nearly grazing Quark's as he looks down between them. He slowly tips the latinum strips into Quark's hands, money spilling like a small waterfall, each piece sparkling as it catches the light. 

When his palms are filled, Quark tests the heft, breath hitching at the weight. There's more than enough to equal multiple bars, at least two, maybe even three. He swallows audibly.

"What's wrong, Quark?" Curzon rests a hand on the pylon behind him, leaning against it, peering down at him with a crooked smile. 

Quark gulps, then looks around in a panic. He picks a nearby table. "I need to sit down."

And he ducks away from Curzon, heart pounding.

Curzon chuckles. He pushes himself away from the pylon and strolls over to Quark's table at a languorous pace. But instead of pulling up a chair, Curzon continues walking, until he's standing right behind him.

Quark's heart pounds. Before he can get up, Curzon sets his palms down on the table on either side of Quark, fencing him in. 

Without touching him, Curzon leans over Quark's shoulder and speaks in his ear.

"Aren't you going to count it?" Curzon asks in a low voice.

Quark jumps in his seat. The chair rattles on the floor. 

"I thought you liked counting things," Curzon continues, sounding even closer to Quark's ear, but Quark doesn't dare to turn his head to confirm.

His mouth feels dry, so he licks his lips.

"Here, I'll help you." And Curzon reaches around him to pluck a strip of latinum from the pile, then puts it down elsewhere on the table with a firm motion. "One."

A shiver runs through him.

"Two."

Quark's breathing grows heavier. It's hard to think of anything besides the latinum before his eyes and the numbers in his ear.

"Three."

"Don't you need to meet Jadzia?" Quark asks, voice cracking. "I mean." He clears his throat, steadies his voice. "You shouldn't keep a lovely lady like that waiting."

Curzon chuckles. "This won't take long." Then, as if to demonstrate, he puts down three more pieces in quick succession. "Four, five, six."

Still barely a dent in the pile. Quark can't help but note wryly, "You've got a lot more strips to go."

"Is that so?" Curzon's voice lowers to a sultry register.

Quark stares resolutely ahead at the money on the table. "You don't have to count them all. I can do that after you leave."

"All by yourself?" Curzon speaks like he's pouting, pursing Odo's lips into a sympathetic shape. 

"I _know_ how to count money," Quark replies, rolling his eyes a little. The motion helps distract him from the heat pooling in his stomach. 

"But it's such a _large_ amount. Let me... make it easier for you to handle." And Curzon plucks a stack of four strips to add to the counted pile. "Ten."

It's all far too blatant - the low voice, the shameless counting. There has to be something else at work. Quark tries to deflect. "Skipped some numbers there. You didn't think this through, did you?"

"I'd normally rather take it slow," Curzon replies casually, "but in the interest of saving time..." His voice trails off as he tidies the ten strips into two orderly stacks of five, developing a steady rhythm as he creates another stack. "Fifteen." 

Each metallic tap resonates in Quark's ears. He says nothing, trying to not to show how much the sounds affect him, paranoid that the man behind him can hear his heightened heartbeat. Curzon's presence seems to have improved Odo's shapeshifting abilities - maybe he's shifted better ears, sharper hearing. 

"Twenty." Curzon lines up the next stack with the rest, fingertips softly moving along the table's surface. "That's one bar."

Quark swallows the drool that's been collecting in his mouth. "I know."

"Enough to buy yourself something nice." Curzon hums like he's envisioning what that something nice might be. His fingers continue moving methodically, faster even. "Twenty-five, thirty. Maybe one of the more... adventurous numbers you've been eyeing in Garak's shop window?"

Heat rushes to Quark's cheeks. "What?"

"You've been taking a second longer than usual to walk past his shop these past few days." Another stack. "Thirty-five. And you always slow down in front of the same mannequin, with the double-hook closure on the chest. Forty."

"You noticed?" Quark's entire face feels hot. "I mean. Odo's noticed?"

There's a slight pause. In the silence, Curzon builds up another stack of latinum. "I always do." He sets it down. "Forty-five."

"But you've never said anything."

"Fifty. I can't tell you everything I notice about you, Quark." The original pile is almost completely diminished, with only a few pieces left. 

"Why not?" Quark grins. Perhaps an Odo lacking his usual inhibitions might not be so bad after all. "What else have you noticed?"

Suddenly Curzon's hand grasps his wrist - gently - while the other hand reaches around Quark to pick up the remaining uncounted latinum off the table. 

Too stunned to resist, Quark can only watch as Curzon presses a strip in his palm. It's cold to the touch. His breath goes shaky.

"Fifty-one," Curzon breathes into his ear. The timbre of his voice travels directly to Quark's sternum, and Quark's entire face feels like it might ignite. "Now, now, Quark. I have to keep _some_ things close to my chest."

His chest rests against Quark's back with the barest of pressure, then stops. Testing the waters. Waiting to see if Quark might flinch. 

Quark doesn't.

He takes a deep, slow breath. His shoulders rise, then fall. He leans back against Curzon's chest, tentatively, just in case the man behind him feels like pulling away. 

He doesn't.

Quark relaxes his shoulders, fully leaning into Curzon's arms, and smiles bemusedly to himself. This is the closest he's ever gotten to a hug from Odo, and it's not even really him.

The latinum in his palm starts to warm up, absorbing the heat from his skin. 

"Fifty-two." Another slow, deliberate press into his hand. Curzon puts a little more force into it, and the latinum's edges dig into his palms. "I'm surprised you haven't bought that outfit yet. The colors suit you quite well. Especially the blush."

Quark doesn't have to turn his head to know that Curzon's looking at him, steadily and intently, daring him to meet his gaze. The heat in his cheeks spreads down his neck to his collar. He parts his lips, but he can't think of anything to say.

Curzon chuckles. He relaxes his grasp on Quark's wrist and turns it into a caress, fingers stroking the back of Quark's hand with a slow, sensual glide. 

Quark inhales sharply at the touch, transfixed. He's so busy concentrating on Curzon's wandering fingers that he jumps in his seat, chair clattering on the floor, when Curzon presses the final strip of latinum into his hand.

"Fifty-three," Curzon murmurs, curling Quark's fingers over the strips, both hands covering Quark's own. "Sorry I startled you."

The hands are cold, but like the latinum in Quark's palm, they're starting to warm up.

But before Quark can turn to look at him, Curzon's already let go.

He twists around and sees Curzon walking away. Curzon's back is to him, so he can't see the lines of Trill spots trailing down the departing figure's face. All he can see is Odo walking away from him, yet again. 

"Where are you going?" Quark calls out, fighting the urge to go follow him. 

Curzon pauses just long enough to look back over his shoulder. 

He smiles, apologetic.

"To meet Jadzia, remember?"

"Oh, right." Quark sinks back against the chair. 

"Can't keep her waiting."

"Of course." Quark laughs humorlessly. 

Curzon hesitates, and for a brief second, Quark thinks he might turn around and come back.

But then:

"Good night, Quark."

And he's gone.

Quark stares at the shut doors for a little while longer, just in case, then looks at the latinum in his palms, gleaming faintly in the light.

He closes his fingers over the strips, then faces the stacks of latinum on the table, neatly and precisely aligned. 

He wants to knock them all down onto the floor. 

But he doesn't.

Instead, Quark carefully gathers up the pieces, then stands up and leaves. 


End file.
